


you don't have my number

by chicagobullsfire (reyofhope)



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn-ish, equal pay for the uswnt so that tobin and christen no longer have to share clothes all the time, the softest gays you ever did see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 15:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyofhope/pseuds/chicagobullsfire
Summary: Tobin has known Christen since they were 19 - remembers her from the NCAA Division 1 finals when UNC played Stanford, remembers her high ponytail and how smiley she was and that she could score precisely when she wanted to. In the couple of months since she was called up to the national team, they’ve only interacted a handful of times. Not enough time to properly get to know each other and definitely not enough time for Tobin to gaze into Christen’s eyes and figure out if they’re green or gray.Tobin has a habit of wearing the wrong number and Christen is in no hurry to change that.





	you don't have my number

**Author's Note:**

> one moment i was fine, then i blinked and the USWNT (and these two, in particular) had taken over my life. this is the product of that. feedback very much appreciated!
> 
> note: i've not been 100% faithful to the timeline - a fair few events have been mixed around a little and a couple of characters crop up where they technically shouldn't be. this first chapter takes place at the camp before the algarve cup in 2013...if you're into that kind of detail. 
> 
> enjoy :)

_ i. _

_ (2013) _

The first time is a complete accident. 

Call it fate (or jet lag) but there’s no real explanation for how Tobin manages to sleep through all five iPhone alarms and Allie scrambling around their shared room with all the grace of a hurricane. 

It happens anyway. 

When she eventually does wake up, she has 56 Whatsapp notifications and five minutes before she’s due on the field for practice. There’s no time for her customary 20 minute shower or cup of black coffee on the balcony whilst leisurely scrolling through ESPN. There’s barely enough time to change her underwear. 

Tobin is showered and dressed in the blink of an eye and the adrenaline is still coursing through her body when she gets down to the dining hall, brimming with food she won’t get the chance to eat. A tray of untouched pancakes is whisked away before her very eyes and she tries not to salivate _ too _much as she zigzags between the kitchen staff like they’re the Colombian back line, apologizing as she goes. She slides into the deserted locker room - one set of sunglasses away from a Risky Business reenactment - and begins hastily undressing out of the clothes she only just put on: her US Soccer vest and jacket sub in for a ratty band tee; yesterday’s socks are swapped with a pair that consistently refuse to stay up past her calves; and her Nike pool slides are ditched in favor of Nike Mercurials. Her training leggings are nowhere to be found but Tobin simply plucks a pair of shorts from the bench and pulls them on - if they feel a tad tight, she chalks it up to the extra portion of pasta she had for dinner last night and carries on lacing up her cleats.

In any other context, Tobin is the antithesis of a morning person: a wake-up call earlier than 10am is ungodly and she’s way too dependent on caffeine than can be healthy for a professional athlete. But she’s never been able to resist the pull of football. Little league, college, the national team’s training camp, the Olympics … it’s all the same: first on the pitch, juggling the ball and waiting eagerly for the rest of the team to show up, purely so she has someone to nutmeg (Pinoe has taken to calling her the Golden Re_ heath _er). So honestly, after five years, Tobin’s earned at least one lie-in. In fact, she should probably get some credit for making it to the pitch in 15 minutes flat. 

(She doubts Jill will see it this way).

Most of the girls have already started kicking the ball around by the time she steps onto the field but Tobin notices with some relief that Kelley is still finishing up her stretches. This relief is short lived, however, the closer she gets, because Kelley is waiting for her with a shit-eating grin firmly in place.

“Mornin’.” Tobin mutters in her low, surfer drawl, tossing her bag into the dugout and joining Kelley in her stretches with slight trepidation. 

“Good afternoon,” she replies, so preoccupied with her quip that she lunges just a little too far and winces. 

“That was such a dad joke and you’re better than that.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere - except Jill’s starting lineup - but we both know that’s not true.” 

“Oh God...Jill.” She hasn’t spotted Tobin yet - thank goodness - and is standing by the goalkeepers with a coat that’s too big for her, arms firmly crossed. “Reckon I need to run some lengths to redeem myself or will the sprint I did through the canteen be enough for her?” 

“She just snapped at Syd for missing a shot and told her that she’s not in high school anymore, so...I’ll let you be the judge of what kind of mood she’s in.”

Tobin curses under her breath which Kelley always finds deeply amusing. “Wow, I haven’t seen Grouchy Uncle Tobin in a while - it’s an honor! Here...” - she retrieves a football from the kitbag and places it at Tobin’s feet. She doesn’t want Kelley to feel too smug but all the cliches are true: the moment her boot connects with the leather, she feels a little closer to normal. “You can stop being so _ not-zen _ now. It’s freaking me out.”

Suddenly, Allie comes bounding over to collect a spare ball and gently drums on Tobin’s shoulders as she passes.

“Ooooh look who made it! I thought you’d died.”

“Careful, she bites.”

Tobin ignores Kelley.

“Yeah, thanks for waking me up, dude. It’s so great having a roommate who looks out for you.” She tries her best to sound petulant but the early morning croak in her voice doesn’t do her any favours. 

“You looked too peaceful, Harry!” And Allie’s off again, booting the ball to Alex and running across the field after it.

“You did sleep okay then?” Kelley asks, as though she knows something Tobin doesn’t - which is hardly a stretch in her current stupor. 

“Yeah, I guess. Just not for long enough.”

That earns an eyebrow raise and _ why is she _ ** _still_ ** _ grinning like that? _ There’s a pause, the only sound coming from the _ tap tap tap _of the football by her feet, until Kelley finally comes out with whatever she’s been dying to say since Tobin got here: “Okay listen, I gotta ask: why are you wearing Press’ shorts? In 50 degrees?”

“I’m - what?” Tobin’s brow crinkles in confusion. She looks down to see an upside-down ‘23’ emblazoned on her upper thigh and the ball drops. “Oh shoot.”

Kelley takes a sly swig from her water bottle and Tobin doesn’t even know how she manages it with a smirk that wide. “Did you two like...hook up? I’m not even mad that it’ll fuck up the team dynamic because she is a certified _ catch _, Tobes! You would not believe the amount of guys who came up to me in college and asked-”

“Kell! What are you even talking about? No. I was super late to practice and I just picked up anything I could find. I’ve probably got like...Alex’s sports bra on under here.” 

“Ugh, I hope not. That girl sweats like a Republican in a gay bar.”

“Anyway, it was an accident. Definitely an accident. Definitely no hooking up. We’ve barely even spoken. I should go apologise, though.”

“Oooookay,” she replies in true nine year old boy fashion, her hands held up in faux surrender. “That’s definitely the _ second _ best way to welcome the new kid, anyway. Show that you’re her biggest fan.” 

Tobin rolls her eyes and chuckles, rescuing the sock now rapidly sliding down her right leg. 

“Right buddy, I’m going to get started before Jill sends out a warrant for my arrest, too. You should, by the way. Talk to Press, I mean. She’s an absolute gem.”

Kelley signs off with a chef’s kiss gesture she has been trying to get the rest of the team to adopt for the better part of a month (with zero success), gives Tobin a light punch on the bicep and then jogs off to join Allie and Alex. Tobin watches her go until her eyes catch Christen by a set of cones near the penalty spot. There’s a gaggle of forwards - Syd, Abby and Carli - close enough to her to be considered a group, yet Christen looks noticeably adrift. Whilst Jill and the coaches are setting up the first set of drills, Tobin figures she has ample time to apologize so she wanders over to Christen, keepy-uppies all the way. 

Tobin has known Christen since they were 19 - remembers her from the NCAA Division 1 finals when UNC played Stanford, remembers her high ponytail and how smiley she was and that she could score precisely when she wanted to. Tobin also knows that Christen is pretty - it’s kind of undeniable but she’s never thought about it beyond how she’s casually observed that Kelley or Alex - or heck, half of the team - is pretty. 

It’s somewhat more than just a casual observation now, though, as her face breaks into a smile the second she sees Tobin approaching, because quite frankly, Christen Press is _ heavenly. _

Tobin’s words to Kelley earlier weren’t an exaggeration: despite going that far back, the two of them really have _ barely _ spoken. In the couple of months since Christen was called up to the national team, they’ve interacted a handful of times: one or two goal celebrations and casual small talk during training, but never one-on-one. Not enough time to properly get to know each other and definitely not enough time for Tobin to gaze into Christen’s eyes and figure out if they’re green or gray.

“Hi Tobin,” she says in a soft, warm voice that sounds just like California. 

Tobin stops juggling. 

“Hey.”

“Nice shorts you’ve got there.”

“Yeah... it’s a funny story actually. They belong to this really dope girl and I noticed she’d left them behind so I thought I’d pick them up - as a favor, really…”

“Mhmm,” Christen’s eyes are shining and her gentle smile is only growing wider.

“But now I realise it looks like I accidentally put them on instead of my own, which would be ridiculous! So anyway, do you think she’ll forgive me?” Tobin finishes rather sheepishly, her hands deep in the pockets of the incriminating shorts.

“You’re right. She is pretty _ dope _so I think you’ll be well and truly forgiven.” Christen is properly grinning now and Tobin absent-mindedly thinks that her dimples are cute. 

“Awesome,” she breathes out in reply.

“So this isn’t a prank or anything?” Christen asks quickly and Tobin can tell she’s scared to even bring it up because it’s the first time in their conversation that she’s avoided eye contact. “Because Allie has already jumped out at me from a laundry bin and Kelley -”

“Oh, no way! Allie is a total weirdo: she hid in my wardrobe once and nearly poked her eye out with a clothes hanger. And well, you know Kelley...your usual nightmare,” she says with exasperated affection. “But this definitely wasn’t a prank: just a caffeine-deprived doofus.”

She laughs - high and musical - and Tobin feels her own smile turn goofy. She hadn’t fully appreciated how lucky she was to join the team at the same time as so many others. A Rod, Cheney, Alex, Kelley - they all grew up together. Christen doesn’t have that. With each passing moment, Tobin wishes she could give it to her. 

“That’s how they show affection, by the way,” she adds. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t being pranked. It’s their backwards way of saying ‘Welcome! We like you.” 

“Okay, phew!” Christen wipes her brow. “I’m pretty new to this. Didn’t know if it was gonna be like high school or not.”

“Wait, who was crazy enough to prank you at high school?”

Christen’s smiles are hardly in short supply but every single one feels genuine, making her nose crinkle and eyes glint with delight. _ They’re silvery-gray _, Tobin decides. She gives an involuntary shiver.

“You’re cold?”

“A little. Turns out that Portugal in February isn’t quite as warm as I expected." 

“Good job you’ve covered up your legs then.”

“Exactly,” Tobin says with a grin and this already feels so natural and familiar that she wonders why it took them three months to talk at all. 

Christen opens her mouth to say something but suddenly Jill’s yell cuts through the crisp winter air to bring Tobin sharply back down to earth. 

“TOBIN! A word, please.”

“I’d better…” she gestures behind her.

“Yeah, you’d better” and Christen lets out that sweet, musical giggle again.

Tobin puts her hand up dumbly in a half-wave. One more Christen smile. And then she’s jogging away. 

She barely pays attention during her reprimanding but makes sure to nod and look contrite at all the right moments. Jill sentences Tobin to five laps of the pitch and five more once training is over, and considering it’s 10:30 and she’s not even stretched properly, it hardly feels fair to complain. Besides, the punishment has its upsides. Allie starts chanting ‘HARRY! HARRY!’ the first time Tobin runs behind the goal, much to the amusement of Alex and Kelley who join in until they’re all abruptly shushed. Christen catches her eye a couple of times too, before shyly looking away, but just when she’s about to start her fifth loop of the pitch, Tobin could swear she gives her a wink.

She finishes that final lap in record time. 


End file.
